


Keep Your Treasures Close

by volatileSoloist



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A tale of two tales, Kidnapping, M/M, Roadrat Secret Santa gift, Starting off with some fluff, Will get more angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-09-11 13:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8981578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volatileSoloist/pseuds/volatileSoloist
Summary: Junkrat and Roadhog have just become the most wanted criminals in England, thanks to their daring Crown Jewel theft. Will they have to time to enjoy the spoils of their conquest, or will trouble find them first?





	1. Enjoying the Fallout

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ListenLyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ListenLyss/gifts).



> This is the first chapter of a gift for listenlyss.tumblr.com for the Roadrat Secret Santa Exchange. I hope they enjoy it :3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long, weary heist, our two Junkers take a break in their motel room.

Life, Junkrat has come to find, can be full of pleasant surprises. That is, assuming you take whatever you want from it.

After all, back in Junkertown, he’d been barely able to eke out a living, hauling prime scrap from the depths of the Omnium to sell for low prices to Scrappers. Now that he’s on the road and spreading mayhem across the globe, he’s living like a king! He has more money than he can ever spend; of course, it’s not like he won’t try! Then again, reason has never been his strong suit.

No, more often than not, it’s Hog who holds him back whenever he’s about to do something stupid or impulsive. It’s honestly a little annoying. The big guy hardly gives him room to breathe! Who’s in charge of who, here?

“Who’s in charge of who here, mate?” He mutters grumpily to himself, lounging on a ratty but queen-sized bed. The first thing he'd done after they found this dingy, unmemorable motel was throw himself onto it dramatically, and he’d ignored the loud squeak that came from its old frame.

“You’re in charge, boss,” Roadhog grunts, taking the non-sequitur in stride. He’s become far too used to Junkrat’s random mumbling for his own comfort; he would’ve gone crazy if he hadn’t adapted. There’s never a moment of silence with Rat around. The brat even talks in his sleep!

Still, it’s a little endearing, he has to admit. But at first, it had been a nightmare of his own. He’d grown so accustomed to quiet in his self-imposed exile that every little giggle or mumble had been like nails on a chalkboard. Now, he doesn’t know what he’d do without this constant background noise.

“That’s exactly right, mate,” Junkrat says, shooting an angry look at Roadhog. “So why are we sitting here doing nothing? We just stole the bloody fucking crown jewels, for chrissake!”

“We need to lay low.”

Junkrat scoffs. “Boring as hell. Gonna go nuts if I sit here for another minute!” He bounces off the bed and walks over to the duffle bag sitting innocuously in the middle of the floor. He all but rips the zipper open, and digs around to pull out the precious loot inside.

No more than a minute has passed before Junkrat crows out, “Oi, Roadie, get a look a this!” and Roadhog turns to see the skinny man decked out in golden jewelry. A crown tilts haphazardly off his head, and he’s covered in bangles, all clinking noisily as he moves. He stands straight, gaze imperious as he raises a jewel-encrusted sceptre in his hand. “Come kneel before King Jamison Fawkes, Piggy.”

Roadhog stays where he is, which happened to be slouched into a hilariously small chair and over the small table in the center of the room. He doesn’t feel like messing around right now; he’s finally managed to come off the adrenaline high from the heist, and all he wants to do is sleep, to be honest.

Junkrat pouts, staring at Roadhog with his big, golden eyes. “Oi, humor me here, mate.”

Oh, to hell with it. He slowly sits up, groaning quietly in unison with the chair beneath him as the old bones of his back crack and shift. When he finally makes it to his feet, he lumbers over to the younger man and silently sinks to his knees, which complain as he braces them on the hard floor. Still, the ear-to-ear grin on Junkrat’s face makes it all worth it.

“There we go. Not so hard, was it?” Roadhog refrains from saying anything, and opts to just gaze up at Junkrat. The younger man, with an attitude suddenly much more serious than Roadhog would’ve expected, leans in and lowers the sceptre onto his companion’s right shoulder, then lifts it over his head before tapping him on the left shoulder.

With a triumphant grin, Junkrat moves back and raises his hands. “I hereby dub thee Duke… uh, Duke… Duke Roadhog!” The little shit has forgotten his name again, apparently. But the moment for correction passes as Junkrat tosses the sceptre aside and gently runs his hands over Roadhog’s head. The larger man leans slightly into the touch, and sighs quietly as Junkrat pulls the elastic out of his hair and lets the locks flow onto his shoulders.

“Me best mate and knight, ain’tcha, Roadie? We gotta stick together, us two misfits. Neither of us coulda pulled off what we did tonight without each other.” For once, Junkrat’s relatively quiet, in favor of focusing his energy on kneading Roadhog’s head.

It’s nice to have Roadhog as putty in his hands. The old man’s head is one of his strongest assets, and it’s his greatest weakness, apparently. Junkrat giggles at the thought.

“Can I get up now?” Comes a low grumble from beneath him.

Junkrat frowns. “Always gotta ruin the moment, don’tcha?”

“Knees hurt.”

“Oh, roight.” Junkrat gives the man one last pat before moving back to the duffle bag and beginning to shuck off his jewelry. “So, Hoggy-me-Hog, when we gonna sell this stuff?”

Roadhog grunts as he rises. “Sell ‘em?” As though the thought hasn’t even occurred to him.

“Of course, mate! Weren’t that the whole point? Steal the crown jewels, sell ‘em, make lots of cash. Instant profit!” He plucks the crown off his own head before settling it onto Roadhog’s. “Look like a king, mate. All regal like.”

“Thanks,” Roadhog says, turning to look in one of the many mirrors on the wall. He does have to admit he likes how he looked in a crown… like he could crush the world beneath his feet.

After another moment of silent admiration, he turns and answers, “We’d need to find a buyer. Quietly.”

Junkrat nods and acquiesces, “A course. Y’can’t sell something like these without ‘tracting lots a attention, I bet.” He grins. “Alright, nice and quiet-like. Leave it to me, mate!”

Roadhog shakes his head. “Leave it to _me_. You’ve never done anything quietly in your life.”

Junkrat pouts. “I can be quiet. I just chose not to! I mean, what’s the point? Humans are ‘social creatures’, or some such bullshit.”

“Peace. Relaxation.”

“Now _that’s_ bullshit, mate.” Junkrat straightens up, eyes narrowed in indignance. “Ain’tcha life been more exciting wi’ me? You tired a me and my big fat mouth?”

The larger man grumbles out, “No. Just want some quiet. I’m _physically_ tired.”

He starts to turn away, but Junkrat grabs at Roadhog’s hand, his own seeming ridiculously small in comparison to the mountain of a man. “D’ya have to, Roadie?” His eyes blink up at him with an innocence that honestly doesn’t belong there.

“Yes.” Roadhog looks right into those big, gold irises, knowing that Junkrat will sense the eye-contact even through the tinted lenses.

Junkrat finally huffs out a sigh. “Fine.”

“Fine.” Roadhog repeats, and tugs his hand out of Junkrat’s grip to complete his earlier motion. “You need sleep too, Rat.”

With an unhappy groan, Junkrat stands on his tiptoes, reaches out, and plucks the crown off Roadhog’s head. “You’re too boring for this crown. I might just take away your crown priv’leges!”

“Deal.”

“Now, you wait just a minute—” Junkrat starts, affronted, only to stop in his tracks as Roadhog, his back still to Junkrat, pulls off his mask. He leans eagerly toward his companion, trying to catch a glimpse of his face, but as he gets close, Roadhog reaches out and casually flips off the light switch.

Junkrat whines, arms stretching out blindly to try and reach Hog. “I wanna see, mate! Why won’tcha let me see yer face, Roadie?”

“Goodnight, Rat.”

“Oi, Roadie—”

“Good. Night.” Roadhog growls, with a low, rolling finality that makes Junkrat shiver, chills running the length of his spine.

Left in the silent dark, Junkrat just stands there blankly, unsure as of what to do. Finally, he lets out a small noise of defeat and begins to stumble his way over to his side to the bed. He settles onto the edge of the mattress and yelps as he slides back a few inches. It seems that Hog’s weight on the bed had causes the box spring to sink toward his side. _Bloody typical._

With careful, practiced motions, Junkrat begins to remove his prosthetics. Starting with his leg, he loosens the bolt that kept it tight to his stump. The dark was no issue now, even as his night vision began to improve; he’s been doing this for a long time. Finally, the mechanism disengages, and he gives a quiet groan of relief as he slides off the pegleg. Being on the run and jumping all over the place makes him ache like mad, and he only realizes it as he takes off the prosthetic. He gently lays it on the floor next to the bed, and starts on his arm.

It’s even easier to remove his arm—which, unlike his leg, is not handmade. He’d been lucky to find it while scavenging in the omnium, and even luckier to find a mechanic who could spruce it up for him. He’d paid a small fortune for it, but it was worth it.

Junkrat giggles quietly to himself. The fortune sitting in the duffle bag at the foot of the bed makes what he'd paid seem like a pittance. A younger Junkrat could have never dreamed that he'd acquire so much wealth… and not just in money, but in _companions_.

With a small pop, the arm slides off, and he lays it next to his leg. He needs them nearby in case they get busted in the middle of the night; fortunately for him, he's learned how to put them on quickly in a pinch.

Finally unencumbered, he plops down onto the bed and pulls up the covers. After living his whole life in Australia, everywhere else feels so _cold_ , so he’s glad for the thick, cozy comforter on the bed—it’s the only luxurious thing in the room. He snuggles up close to Roadhog, who gives no indication that he’s aware of, or even cares, about his proximity.

It had been a good night.


	2. The Best Offer, Bar None

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roadhog and Junkrat set out to find a shady bar and meet a nice, shady lady.

While selling the crown jewels quietly worked in theory, it would be a lot harder to pull off in real life. With every law enforcement group in England looking for the two Australian outlaws, keeping a low profile seemed like a hard enough task on its own.

It certainly takes a lot of effort to convince Junkrat to be inconspicuous anyway, which is, to some degree, surprising. After all, he managed to maintain a enough of a low profile out in the Outback.

Roadhog resists the urge to rub at his forehead, settling for glowering at his unreasonable charge. “You did it before you met me.”

Junkrat barks out a laugh. “It took more than a fuckin’ shirt to avoid bounty hunters!”

“Then it should be easy to put one on.”

He sticks out his tongue instead of responding, so Roadhog just grabs at him and wrestles him into a shirt. “Fucking hell, mate! Let me live!”

Still, eventually he ceases to struggle—he can’t resist an opportunity to be held in Roadhog’s arms—and soon enough Roadhog has him looking decently civilian, with a neon crop top and shorts significantly less ratty than what he normally wears. He’s even managed to convince him to comb his hair enough to cover the bald spots on his head.

As for Roadhog, he’s been lucky enough to find a leather jacket big enough to cover his massive gut (and distinctive tattoo). It suits his tastes, at any rate, and reminds him of his biker days. Junkrat has fun running his fingers on the short, blunt spikes on the shoulders. “Why couldn’t ya get me something like _this_ , Roadie? Looks ace!”

Their motel is located in the more shady area of London, far away from the swankier parts like King’s Row, so it’s easy to find even shadier bars. Roadhog knows places like these will be good for finding fences who will buy their stolen merchandise without asking too many questions.

The two leave their hideaway just as night falls, bearing only a small selection of their goods; the rest have been safely hidden away. The rumble of the bike’s motor fades out as they pull up to a dimly-lit—but still slightly upscale—dive in the red-light district. The bright neon sign above informs the two that they are about to enter “Gateway”.

The bar has a dark, smoky atmosphere, and Roadhog figures that they’ve probably come to the right place. He knows it’ll be useless to try and keep Junkrat at his side, so he gives him a handful of cash and tells him to stay by the bar.

“Where you going?” Junkrat asks, staring at the money in his bionic hand with an expression halfway between excitement and worry.

“Gonna see if I can find someone interested.”

Junkrat chuckles. “Don’t have to look far, mate, ‘m roight here!” He elbows Roadhog in the side. Roadhog doesn’t budge, but Junkrat’s known him long enough to tell by his posture that he’s probably smiling. He’s taken off his mask for their jaunt in public, but now he’s wearing sunglasses and a bandana, so Junkrat won’t be lucky enough to see his face today. Oh well.

His companion heads into the throngs of dancing people, and he beelines it to the bar—Roadhog doesn’t have to tell him twice. He sits down on one of the stools and decides to start off with the fruitiest thing on the menu. Back in Australia, he’d gotten used to pisswater beer, but now that he’s out of that hellhole, he’s insanely glad for the variety of alcoholic beverages.

He’s only one gulp into his drink when he hears a voice next to him speak up, “You have good taste, my friend.” He looks over, and sees a woman with colorful, unnaturally-styled hair looking his way. She sits herself down confidently onto the seat next to him and casually orders the same drink. “I haven’t seen you here before. You new to this little corner of London?”

 _She has a nice accent,_ Junkrat notes. It’s definitely not British, but it isn’t one he’s heard before either. “Yeah,” Junkrat divulges, pausing to down the rest of his booze. “Just a tourist enjoying a night on the town.”

She glances at his empty cup, before turning to smile at him even more brightly. “Let me buy you another drink, huh? You want to enjoy as much of the nightlife here as you can, tourist?”

Junkrat chortles. “Sure. Can’t say no to an offer like that! But, just so you know,” he lowers his voice conspiratorially, “I’m already taken, sheila.”

Still grinning, she raises an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Junkrat turns to look around the room, and spots Roadhog in the distance, talking to some shady man in a hoodie. “That’s him over there, the tall muscle-y handsome bloke.”

The new drink shows up, and the woman slides it over to Junkrat. “I see. But it looks like he’s left you alone in favor of some other dude! Pretty rude if you ask me.”

Junkrat rolls his eyes. If she’s trying to make him jealous, it isn’t working. He leans in and lowers his voice even more. “Well, if ya must know, we’re actually here on business. We got something we’re lookin’ to sell.” He takes a sip of his drink to keep her in suspense, then pauses to look thoughtfully at her. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone interested in some fancy jewels and the like?”

If it’s possible for her to smile wider, she manages it. “You came to the right place, my friend. I happen to know plenty of people who would be interested in that. What kind of jewels are we talking, mister…?”

“Oh, yeah, I ain’t introduced meself, have I? I’m—”

“Leaving.” There’s a large hand on his shoulder, and he looks up to see his best mate, staring menacingly at his new friend.

“Oi, hold on a minute. This sheila says she knows some folks who’d buy what we’re sellin’.” He turns back to the woman. “I’m Jamison Fawkes—” Roadhog’s hand tightens on him in warning, but he continues, blaisé, “and you are?”

“Umbría.” She sticks out her hand for him to shake, so he does. “Would you happen to have a sample of what you’re selling?”

Junkrat looks to Roadhog, who stares long and hard at Umbría. She doesn’t cower, though, and merely looks back confidently. Eventually, he grunts and turns to Junkrat. “Not in here.”

Umbría nods understandingly. “We can do this out back, no problem.” She stands and gestures for them to follow her. Junkrat gets up to do so, only to be stopped by the hand on his shoulder. 

“How do you know we can trust her?” Hog asks, voice quiet.

Junkrat rolls his eyes. “How can you trust _anyone_ you meet in a shady bar? Don’t be so twitchy, Roadie.” He shrugs off the hand—Roadhog lets him—and goes to follow their new friend outside.

The alley they enter smells like cigarette smoke and vomit, so it’s only slightly different than how the inside was. Umbría is there, waiting for them with her arms crossed. There’s no one else in sight, so Junkrat relaxes.

“So, my friends, what do you have?” Her eyes find the rucksack slung over Roadhog’s shoulder, and he slides it off and opens it. Umbría steps forward to look inside, and when she sees the glittering gold orb and shining jewels they’ve stashed in there, her eyes light up. She glances up at the man towering over her. “I imagine there’s more where this came from?”

Junkrat bursts out laughing. “You’d better believe it, sheila! That is, if your lot can afford it.”

Umbrìa smiles widely at Junkrat. “Money will be no issue. We will be happy to take your treasure off your hands, Mr. Fawkes. We can discuss the price and meeting place right now, if you want.”

Roadhog shakes his head—something about this seems too easy. “Give us a number we can contact you with.”

The woman laughs. “Of course, _caucho_.” She digs out a small pad of paper and a stylus before quickly writing a phone number on a strip of it; the digits shine brightly in luminescent purple ink. “You can call me at any hour, don’t worry. I imagine we’ll be in touch very soon, my friends.”

Junkrat smiles back at her. “Ta, sheila!”

“Oh please, it was all my pleasure, Mr. Fawkes.” She waves at the two of them, and then opens the door to head back inside. Roadhog waits a moment before opening the door after her to glance around, but he doesn’t see her anymore. She must have disappeared into the crowd.

“Alright, Roadie, I‘d say that went pretty well!” Junkrat gives Roadhog a cheeky look. “And you thought it would be hard.”

Roadhog grunts. “I don’t trust her.”

The shorter man rolls his eyes. “Ya don’t trust anyone, mate. Look, the sooner we get these off our hands, the sooner we can get out of this dumb country and live it up like kings!”

Roadhog sighs, but decides not to argue. Still, _he’ll_ be handling the negotiations from now on. He doesn’t know how much Junkrat gave away before he intervened.

“Anyway, night’s still young. You wanna go back inside? I’ll buy ya a drink!” Junkrat wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Roadhog rolls his eyes and pushes Junkrat away with a large hand over his face. He hears muffled laughter before Junkrat gives his palm a small smooch and pushes it off.

“We’re going back to the motel.” He turns to head back to the chopper.

Junkrat hurries along next to him. “Oh, sure, that’s fine too! You wanna get room service? We can _dine in_.” He cackles at his own brilliance.

Roadhog just sighs. “We can celebrate when this is all over, Rat.”

“Sure, whatever you want, mate.” Junkrat just smiles up at him, and Roadhog feels his mood soften. The little rat has a way of making him feel at ease, especially if he’s been tense. It’s a nice effect, and Roadhog enjoys it while he can. If a storm’s coming, they’ll weather it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure what to name the bar, so I used a bar name generator. Here was some of the names that cropped up that I liked, but definitely couldn't use:  
>   
>   
>   
>   
> and last but not least:  
> 


	3. A Meeting in Mulberry Markets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roadhog and Junkrat pick a date and time for their rendezvous, and then meet up with their new and clearly trustworthy contact the next day.

The first thing Roadhog does when they return to the hotel is check to see that the rest of the Crown Jewels are where they left them. Now that they’ve found a buyer, it’d be a shame to lose the rest of their merchandise. Fortunately, their room shows no evidence of having been searched, and a quick count of the jewelry inside shows that nothing’s been taken.

Not that Roadhog’s going to let his guard down. He’s still on edge from their earlier meeting with that shady woman at the bar—according to Junkrat, her name is Umbría, but that could easily be fake. He stares hard at the strip of paper in his hand, but aside from the unusual ink color, he can’t see anything wrong or unusual about it. When he looks up to ask Junkrat’s opinion, he sees the younger man staring raptly at him; of course, he’d taken off the sunglasses in order to get a closer look at the slip of paper. He rolls his eyes and puts them back on, ignoring Junkrat’s pout.

He’d show Junkrat his face some day, but that day wasn’t today. He wasn’t ready yet.

“We ought to scout out a location for the handoff,” Roadhog says instead, placing the paper on the side table.

Junkrat nods. “Probably can’t be too public, yeah? Don’t wanna risk any coppers gettin’ suspicious.”

“Shouldn’t be too private either. We don’t want to run into an ambush.”

Junkrat finger-guns at him. “Roight. Had enough a those ta last me a lifetime.” Rat sits down on the edge of the bed, expression pensive. “Alleyways are roight out, that’s for sure. How ‘bout… hmm… some kinda market? Gotta be plenty a those in King’s Row!”

Hog thinks about it for a minute. It does seem like a good idea; they’re always filled with people buying and trading things, so they shouldn’t look too suspicious when they hand off the goods. “That’s… not a bad idea, Rat.”

Junkrat beams at him. “I know, I’m full of ‘em, ain’t I? Good ideas, of course,” he adds after a moment. “So all we gotta do is go to one of these markets and we can get all this ova with!”

He flops back onto the bed the bed with a sigh. “What’re you gonna do with your half a the dough, Hoggy? Buy lots a those plushies you like, I bet.”

The thought had crossed Roadhog’s mind, but he’d rather spend it on a world-class road trip for the two of them. He owed it to Junkrat to show him the world and all the things he’d missed out on, growing up in that hellscape back home. Letting Junkrat try exotic foods and blow up national monuments seemed like a pretty good start on apologizing.

Junkrat continues, “Personally, I’d like ta buy lotsa sweets. And new stuff for bombs too! Imagine all the new bombs I can make with this kind a cash!” He pauses for a moment, then grins and turns to look at Roadhog. “And maybe I’ll spend some of it and spoil ya rotten. Treat ya roight, ya know?”

Roadhog blinks, and feels a bit of warmth in his heart. He hadn’t expected that of Junkrat. “It’s my job to worry about you, not the other way ‘round,” he says, and he reaches down to ruffle the kid’s hair.

At that, he smiles even wider, pushing into the hand with a purr. “That’s how a good partnership works, mate! Lookin’ out for each other through thick an thin.”

Well, Hog isn’t going to argue with that. He takes a quick look through the maps they’d acquired of King’s Row back when they were planning the heist, and he finds a quiet-looking flea market called Mulberry Markets, with lots of escape routes. It’s almost too convenient, but he can’t afford to pass it up.

He shows Junkrat the location on the map, and they spend the rest of the night coming up with contingency plans. He scratches his head as Hog shows him one route. “No, no. That way moight work for a bit, but eventually it passes right in front a one of those copper hideouts.” A knobbly finger traces the street, showing Roadhog where the police station is.

Roadhog nods, instead pointing out a different route. It passes by a river that they could possibly jump into if they needed a sudden getaway. However, upon seeing it, Junkrat just snorts. “Can’t swim, mate.”

When Hog stares incredulously at Junkrat, the latter just shrugs defensively. “I never learned! Where was I gonna swim in the fuckin’ Outback, Roadie?”

“I’m going to make it a point to teach you some day,” Roadhog rumbles.

Junkrat laughs at that. “You swim, Hoggie? I imagine ya’d just sink!”

Roadhog brushes off the remark and continues to study the map. They eliminate a few more streets in the next half-hour before finally settling on a definite route. It’s a quiet lane, intersecting with several other roads, with a few dense patches of scrub where they could hide the bike, and it’s not far enough away that they wouldn’t be able to make it there if they had to run.

“Aces,” Junkrat says, and smiles at Hog. “Looks like she’ll be right!” He yawns and stretches out before pushing out of his chair. “I’m gonna get some shuteye. You go make the call to Umbría, an we’ll head inta the market first thing in tha mornin’.”

——

With all the arrangements made, Roadhog and Junkrat find themselves making their way to their rendezvous at Mulberry Markets. Their precious loot is stored inconspicuously in a large but nondescript backpack carried by Hog. They dress in civilian clothes again, and check out of their lodgings.

As the sun rises, they ride Roadhog’s chopper up the lane that will serve as their escape route if things go south. There’s a cool breeze as well as a light mist in the air that’s slowly dissipating as light spreads across the horizon. The road is quiet at this hour, and will hopefully remain that way for the rest of the day.

Every once and awhile, Hog takes his eyes off the empty road to glance at his companion. Junkrat lays huddled up in his sidecar to escape the chill of the fog in the air, aimlessly fidgeting with bits of scrap from Roadhog’s ammo pouch. He’s twisting little bits of aluminium in his restless hands, possibly building something, but likely just screwing around.

A small grunt of pain and muttered curse catches his attention, and he sees Junkrat slip a bleeding finger into his mouth as he grumpily tosses a piece of sharp scrap, reddened by his blood, onto the road.

“Nervous?” Roadhog rumbles, turning his attention back to the lane they were speeding down.

Junkrat titters and nonchalantly says, “Dunno what you’re on about, mate,” as he wipes his bloody, spit-stained finger on his shorts.

Roadhog rolls his eyes. Without looking, he detaches a small pouch from his belt and tosses it to Junkrat. “Should be something to wrap it with in there.”

He hears Junkrat fumble with it for a moment before placing it in his lap and digging around in it. “Found it,” he calls, and after a few moments, he reaches up and hooks the pouch back in place. He also notices him sneaking the ammunition he’d pilfered back into its bag, but doesn’t comment. They’re practically at the marketplace, anyway. As long as he has all of his scrap when he needs it, he couldn’t care less what Junkrat did with it.

They pull up to a patch of brush, and Hog cuts the motor so they can hide it there. After they roll it into the cover and make sure it isn’t obviously visible from the road, they set off toward the market. As they walk, Junkrat chatters on about their surroundings and what he’s going to do with his cash—“I can practically taste all the cool things I’m gonna get to try!“—once they sell the jewels. Roadhog is fine with it, but as they approach the market, he knows that they need to keep up their cover, so he slips his hand into Junkrat’s.

Junkrat goes silent—just as he’d hoped—and instead seems to glow with quiet happiness as they finally make it into Mulberry Markets.

The sight of so many tents and stalls is actually a little impressive. It reminds Roadhog a little of one of the markets he’d frequented back when life had been normal. He feels a pang of nostalgia that he quickly lets himself forget; it’s never worth it to spend time dwelling on Mako’s life.

Meanwhile, Junkrat’s head is swiveling in every direction, each stand catching his eye and excitement as they walk past the little booths. It isn’t hard for him to convince Roadhog to stop and buy them each a few slices of fresh watermelon as they walk through the produce areas, and the two eat them greedily as they traverse the aisles made by the gaps between stalls.

“What even is a mulberry?” Junkrat muses as they stroll past a stand full of small, colorful fruits. Roadhog shrugs, but the person at the stall hears Rat, and points those particular berries out to Junkrat among the others. Just to be polite and get them to move along, Roadhog buys him a few of those as well, which Junkrat munches on as they walked.

“Nice an sweet,” he chirps, offering one to Roadhog. Hog begins to decline, but when he turns to look at Junkrat, he can’t help but laugh, as Rat’s mouth is stained dark purple with fruit juice. Rat becomes indignant and hunts around for a reflective surface to clean himself up in as Roadhog guffaws nearby.

Once he’s clean, they finally made their way to the meeting spot. It’s at a quieter end of the market, with seating in the shade and a vendor selling sweetened tea close by. They’re essentially by themselves, save for a team of men a few yards away who are dragging several gigantic crates marked “PRODUCE” from the back of a large truck. The two sip contentedly on their drinks and keep an eye out for Umbría as they wait. They still have a little time to kill until the meeting came about.

The sun rises higher in the sky, but they remain unbothered in the shade. Roadhog checks his watch; Umbría’s running a little late. His eyes wander over to the men and the crates. Junkrat sees him looking and snorts as he watches the movers struggle. “Bet you could lift those, no problem. Strong as fuck,” he says fondly.

Despite the compliment, Hog can’t help but feel a sense of lingering unease. Where is Umbría? He finishes off his drink, and turns his head in every direction to see if he can see the purple-haired woman approaching.

“Looking for me?” The sound of an amused voice, suddenly and from behind him, makes Hog jump up and whirl around, fists clenched. His startled actions are met with laughter, and as he sees Umbría before him, he makes no effort to relax himself.

“You’re late,” he growls.

“Sorry,” Umbría says with a shrug. “I got held up with some business on the way here. You’re not my only contact, _amigo_.”

“Well, ya here now, so let’s get this ova with,” Junkrat replies, getting up from his seat and walking toward the woman.

Both men tower over her, but she doesn’t seem to be nervous at all. That annoys Roadhog. “Cash first,” he says, and holds out a meaty hand. His tone leaves little room for argument.

Umbría slings a duffel bag off her shoulder, and holds it out to Hog. “You can check it now, in case you’re worried about some kind of double-cross,” she says, tone teasing.

Roadhog glowers at her, snatches the bag, and then he looks down to unzip it. He’s got a two enormous fistfuls of cash in his hands when he hears a small, whooshing sound. He hears Junkrat yelp. Hog looks up just in time to see him fall, almost in slow motion, and catches the glint of a small dart in his arm. Umbría reaches out as he topples over, grabs him by the shoulder, and in a flash of purple light, the two of them vanish.

It happens so fast he doesn't even have time to process it, that Junkrat is gone. Just… _gone_. And when he does finally does, he's alone. 

Then, with the sound of splintering wood, he isn't.

Several of the crates that had been left there have their sidings explode outwards as they are kicked off by groups of men in dark clothing and kevlar vests. They flood out, and soon, he is surrounded. There are multiple guns raised at him.

“Put your hands up,” one of them calls out, the slightest tremor in his voice.

Roadhog feels anger welling up in him. They’d been set up. They’d made such an effort to plan for any contingencies, and they’d been outsmarted anyway. Hog had failed Junkrat, and now he was gone to who knows where.

He clenches his fists, and there’s an audible cracking noise. The cops cock their weapons in response.

Roadhog’s angry, alright, but he’s not stupid. He’s no use to Junkrat if he’s dead. There are too many guns trained on him, and he doesn’t have enough hogdrogen to deal with the damage he would take.

Well... it’s not like he’s never broken out of prison before. Roadhog growls, and puts his hands up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Junkrat voice* Sniper!
> 
> Poor Junkboy and Roadhog. Who's ready for a fic with two different simultaneous stories???


End file.
